Contamination
by Mara
Summary: A mission goes bad. Michael risks everything to save Nikita.
1. Part I

Disclaimer: I guess this is where I say that Nikita, Michael, and all the other characters in the story belong to USA network. I don't really want to, but because I have to, I just did. *G* No more chocolate for me today!  
  
Author's Note: Okay, this is my first La Femme Nikita Story and my first story to publish on the web. I have already started 'Contamination- part II', and I expect it to be online within the next week. I'd also like to point out that a character's thoughts are contained in '~'s. Enjoy!  
  
©1999 Tierney Epstein, All Rights Reserved. Must have author's permission for any use other than printing for personal use or downloading to a personal file.   
  
Contamination- Part I  
  
by Mara  
  
The mission was going as planned. Nikita was at her second mark, waiting for Birkoff to let her know her path was clear. All at once her com unit came to life.  
  
"Go ahead Nikita. The hallway is clear, but in about two minutes, a  
  
group of Aguilar's goons will reach it, so get in and get out."  
  
"Gotcha Birkoff." With deft, precise movements Nikita glided down the corridor, ever watchful, never letting down her guard. She carefully entered an access code Madeline had gotten from a former Section One prisoner and held her breath. ~Nine. Five. Two. Seven. Three. Five. One. Seven. Nine. Zero.~ The steel panel slid to her right and Nikita turned to her left, pressing her back to the right side of the door frame, looking for any extra security measures or traps in the room. Section's Intel was very thorough, but not always 100% accurate. Once in a while there were unexpected surprises.  
  
Swiftly Nikita turned ninety degrees to her left and stepped fully into the room, listening to the hiss of the door closing behind her. Taking in her surroundings quickly, she noted that the ceiling stood nearly fifteen feet high and the walls were bare and white. Nikita guessed that the room was about thirteen feet long and eight feet wide. A single wooden table stood in the middle of the blue and white checked tile floor, accompanied only by a worn-looking office chair. On the table sat a computer, a scattered mass of shredded papers, and a tangle of wires and cords.  
  
"Okay, Nikita. The disk should be straight ahead on that table. It'll probably be in the port already, but check anyway."  
  
Nikita set down her gun, pressed a button on the out surface of the computer and a small gold disk popped out. Kicking the chair out of her way, she reinserted it into the computer and set her fingers on the computer keys, trying to keep them relaxed. "It's in here Birkoff. Now what?"  
  
"Type in backslash, D, semicolon, slash, lightening. You have a minute twenty-three left."  
  
"I can do it." ~Okay.~ She mentally repeated Birkoff's instructions as she followed them systematically. ~Backslash, D, semicolon, slash, lightening.~  
  
"It's downloading all the files." Nikita paused as she heard Birkoff's voice. She couldn't do anything but wait now.  
  
"Michael, there are seven large bodies moving in Nikita's direction. Get there and take them out, fast. Fifty seconds, Nikita." Michael jogged silently, first down one hallway, then another, turning where Birkoff told him to. Right, left, left, right, left, right, right. Nikita's palm's started to sweat and her pulse accelerated slightly at the thought of Michael coming to protect her. She knew it was under orders, but it hardly mattered.  
  
"The files are almost done." Ten seconds passed in silence. With every passing moment Nikita's heart beat more intensely until it was thundering in her head. "They're finished. I have the disk."  
  
"Good, Nikita. Michael is waiting for you just outside the door. The guards will intercept you in fifteen seconds unless you get out of there." Nikita walked back to the door she had come in through and was startled when she saw no way to get out.  
  
"Birkoff, how do I get out of here?"  
  
"There should be a red button under the table, under the corner closest to the door. Press it and a key pad should slide out. Enter the code you used to get in. That should open the door." Covering the distance to the table in two strides, Nikita felt under the smooth wood for a catch mechanism. Feeling the button, she pressed it and a keypad glided into her field of vision. Reentering her access code, Nikita prayed that it would work. ~Nine. Five. Two. Seven. Three. Five. One. Seven. Nine. Zero.~ The keypad replaced itself underneath the table and the metal door once again slid into the wall.  
  
Stepping into the hallway, Nikita saw Michael to her left. Before she had a chance to do anything, Michael's left hand cupped itself around the back of her neck and pushed her down. By the time his right hand, wielding his gun, had fired four nearly invisible shots, Nikita had her weapon raised and was taking care of the remaining three. All seven threats were dead.  
  
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No matter how many missions she went on, it never seemed to get less painful, just more instinctive. It sickened Nikita that she could have conformed so quickly to the ways of these animals who had stolen her life from her. She hated to kill anyone. It didn't matter why. The only way she could justify the carnage to herself was by remembering that what Section did was stop terrorists.  
  
Nikita was the last one off the transport. She walked through the circular doorway back to Section, pulling the black ski cap from her head, letting her long blonde hair fall to her back. She ran her fingers through it once and glared at Michael as she approached him. As she passed, his hand darted out and grabbed her upper arm in an iron grip. He turned his head so that their cheeks nearly touched and she could feel the heat of his breath on her ear. Michael's voice was low and sensual, barely loud enough for even Nikita to hear.  
  
"I want to see you in my office after we debrief."  
  
"Fine," was her chilled reply. Nikita's icy blue eyes bore into his brown ones, searching the depths of his soul for answers. Instead, she found only emptiness.  
  
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Thirty minutes later, Nikita closed the metal door to Michael's office and turned to face him, her body still leaning against it. Michael secured the room from listening devices and closed the blinds. He just stood there for a moment, staring unseeingly at the metallic gray shutters, before he turned to look Nikita in the eye.  
  
"You wanted to see me?" ~Two can play at this game. I can be just as impersonal as he can.~  
  
"I know you were afraid today, when you thought you couldn't get out of that room in Constantinople."  
  
"Is this why you wanted to see me? Of course I was afraid." Under her breath Nikita added something she didn't think Michael heard. "I'M human."  
  
"Operations will think you're going soft again."  
  
"To hell with Operations. And what do you care?"  
  
Michael paused, looking back at the the blinds, away from Nikita. "I care," he said simply.  
  
"Why?" Her gaze remained fixed on him, though his eyes would not meet hers. Her voice betrayed no emotion, yet her stomach twisted in anxious anticipation of he would say. Casually she crossed her ankles and let her head rest against the door, her lengthy tresses falling over her right cheek. Raising her right hand, Nikita twirled her hair loosely around her index finger, watching Michael with interest.  
  
Michael knew very well that he couldn't tell Nikita that he loved her, though that would have been the correct answer to her question. It astounded as well as annoyed Michael that she didn't see it. He had used and tortured her emotional without mercy, all for Section. Surely she must know that he hated every minute of pain he caused her. He was ordered to find out things about her, personally, by pretending to be in love with her, but no one saw that he wasn't pretending. When he held her, when he kissed her, he felt a warmth deep inside that he never thought he'd feel again after Simone died. When Michael was with Nikita, the things he felt weren't ordered by Operations; those were things that no one could ever order him to feel. After much thought, Michael avoided the question by giving Nikita an answer that didn't really answer anything. "You're a good operative." He finally turned back to look at her. What he saw in her eyes nearly ripped him in half. What Michael saw in Nikita's eyes was contempt.  
  
"Should I feel special?" Nikita's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Why am I really here Michael?"  
  
"I wanted to see you."  
  
"Why?" This game was becoming more and more frequent of late. He'd stop to talk to her about something of no importance. It was beginning to irk her a great deal.  
  
"I was wondering how you're doing."  
  
"You mean about Jergen?" At the dead man's name Michael stiffened. This was beginning to make sense. Nikita smiled a little at his discomfort and rubbed a finger back and forth against her black leather pants. ~So that's why we wants to see me. He feels guilty. Maybe he's not completely inhuman after all.~ The movement caught Michael's eye and he stared at her hand moving against her leg as he thought of what to say next.  
  
"Yes, and other things."  
  
"I'm fine. Can I go now?" Michael's face changed visibly. He was almost hurt that she wanted to get away from him so badly.  
  
"Yes." Michael turned to his desk and unsecured the room before returning to the chair behind his desk. Nikita put her hand on the door as if to leave but changed her mind and looked back to Michael instead. He was looking down at some papers on his desk.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He answered her without even looking up. "Sure." His voice was so calculated and...cold. Nikita shivered a little at the thought.  
  
~He's back to being Section's good little soldier boy. At least once in a while, when we're alone, the part of Michael that he keeps frozen inside melts and he seems human.~  
  
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Back in her apartment, Nikita collapsed upon the couch. She was exhausted from the mission, as well as her meeting with Michael. ~Why does he always have to be so impossible?! Why do I let him get to me?!~ Nikita gave up searching for answers, frustrated that she couldn't come up with any. There was just no logical explanation for it. Maybe a hot shower would relax her and take her mind off the day's irritations.  
  
Nikita walked into her bathroom, pushed the clear plastic door aside, and turned on the water. She held her right hand under the running water until she was satisfied with the temperature. Turning around, Nikita quickly pulled off all her clothes and her boots, set them on a chair, put her gun on the counter top, stepped into the shower, and slid the door shut behind her. Letting the warm water soothe away all her worries, Nikita's thoughts turned to Jergen. He had died over two months ago, and Michael was to blame. Michael was the one who had killed Jergen. He said that he had to do it to protect Section, but Nikita had her doubts. Michael had obviously hated Jergen. He had told her many things about Jergen that Jergen said were not true, and she wondered why. After all these months, she was no closer to the truth- about either of them.  
  
When Nikita was through, she turned off the water, opened the shower door and blindly grabbed for a towel. She dried herself off, wrapped the towel around her body, and walked into her bedroom. Nikita's room was nice. Her bed was soft and comfortable, with white sheets, white pillows, and a white down comforter. On the wall to the left of the bed was the door to her bathroom and the door to her living room, on the wall to the right of the bed was a window that spanned across most of the wall. Also on the right side of the bed was a nightstand made of the same wood as the dresser, holding up a small metal lamp with a white shade. Past the foot of the bed, against the wall, was a waist-high dresser made of cherry wood with a vanity mirror. After putting on clean underwear, a thin, white, cotton camisole, and blue plaid, body-hugging pajama pants she removed from the dresser, Nikita stood in front of the mirror looking at herself thoughtfully as she rubbed her hair with the towel. ~I wonder what Michael's doing right now.~ Surprised at her own thought, Nikita quickly banished it from her mind.  
  
Going into her bathroom, she hung the towel on the hook by the shower and quietly returned to her bedroom, carrying her gun. Nikita pulled back her sheets, lay down, pulled them up over her, and switched out the light on her bedside table. Glancing over at the cellular phone she had placed there when she finished her shower, Nikita hoped that tonight she could sleep without interruptions from Section.  
  
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It was early afternoon when the phone rang. Nikita had spent her morning shopping before she stopped at a small cafe, where she ate a Caesar salad- alone. She knew that it was dangerous to have friends outside of Section, more for them than for her, but she still hated being alone all the time. It got lonely. On her way back to her apartment, only a few minutes after leaving the cafe, she received a call on her cell phone. Reaching into her 50's style black leather purse, Nikita withdrew the ringing object and flipped the top up, putting it to her ear as she kept walking towards home.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Josephine?"  
  
"Yes?" Her voice was tight. Michael was the voice on the other end of the line.  
  
"Briefing in twenty minutes."  
  
"Okay. I'll be there." Adding a note of cheer to her voice as though she were talking to an old friend, Nikita hoped not to look suspicious to any passersby.  
  
Nikita stopped by her apartment to drop off her packages and headed for Section.  
  
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The briefing was routine. Seven operatives sat around a long, shiny black table while Operations told them where they were going, what they were going to do, and why they were going to do it.  
  
"As you can see by this model, the Al Ghar Agricultural Facility in Iraq is circular and has one above ground floor. Our Intel tells us that there are two underground levels to this facility. It is a medical research instillation which we believe is producing biological weapons." Operations continued to pace the length of the table on the side opposite the operatives while he gave instructions and explanations. "Your orders are to get in, get samples of materials from the Level 4 Hot Zone, sterilize all four levels of biological activity, and destroy the lab."  
  
Operatives rarely questioned Operations, but when someone did, it was usually Nikita. "How are we supposed to get inside?" ~And what the hell is going to keep us from those diseases?~  
  
"Nikita, you will pose as a secretary and clear the path of all obstacles so the rest of the team can enter. The six of you will enter the Hot Zone while Birkoff manages things from a nearby transport. Once you are all inside, each of you will put on special suits and enter the core. Before leaving the Hot Zone, you will all be hosed down with bleach, so as not to contaminate anything outside the lab. the first level is a level 2 decontamination vestibule, the second is a level 4 biohazard lab. Any OTHER questions?" His tone of voice and the look he gave Nikita said he really just wanted her to keep her mouth shut.  
  
"What happens after we have sterilized the compound?"  
  
"You will simply return to the transport and return to Section One to debrief. All right, if that's all, the transport leaves in one hour." Each member of the team stood and left the room- everyone except Nikita. Once everyone else was gone, she uncrossed her legs and slowly got out of her chair. ~There's more to this than Operations is letting on. I wonder why we're really going. It just doesn't seem that simple.~  
  
Walter looked up as Nikita approached his work area. She seemed bored and distracted. He smiled at her and gave his usual greeting. "Hey Sugar." He didn't seem surprised to see her.  
  
"Hey Walter. I need a pair of glasses with a com unit and a camera." That said, he immediately turned around and opened a cabinet. One hand reached for a pair of glasses with thin, black, wire frames while the other continued to adjust a broken com unit.  
  
"Sure. This for the Hot Zone mission?"  
  
"Yep." Nikita took the glasses. Her smile was small and forced, but Walter didn't seem to notice. He went right back to what he was working on before she came. "Thanks."  
  
"No problem, Sugar."  
  
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The transport was stationed six blocks away from the main building, hidden behind an abandoned building since, in the desert, there was nothing else to use for cover. The air was dry as Carrie Beckman finished cutting a section of the wire fence surrounding Al Ghar. Beckman peeled back the metal barrier and the rest of the team snuck through the crevice with Michael bringing up the rear.  
  
"Nikita, walk around to the side of the building and go through the doors. The rest of the team will wait outside until you've cleared the path. There isn't anyone in the immediate area of the door, so no one should see you enter." Birkoff knew Nikita knew what to do, but he still had to tell her again. Operations was pretty strict about these types of missions. Michael handed Nikita an electronic "key" and she unlocked the door. Pulling it open, she slipped inside quickly.  
  
"I'm in Birkoff."  
  
"Just outside the door in front of you is a long hallway. Leave the room and turn right. There's one obstacle in your path. From the infrared sensors it looks like a scientist. Take him out and continue to the core."  
  
"Right." Even as she said this, Nikita saw the young man coming towards her. He didn't even notice her until he heard the click of her boots on the tile floor. ~God, he's so young. He can't be more than twenty-six. How could someone so young get mixed up in something like this? What am I saying, look at where I am.~ The scientist was wearing a white lab coat and when he saw Nikita, he started to panic.  
  
"Who are you? You're not supposed to be he-" His sentence was cut short by a bullet from Nikita's gun silently tearing into his heart. Nikita hurried over to him and searched his pockets until she found what she was looking for- an access card.  
  
"Birkoff, I found a card on him. It's a key."  
  
"Keep it. You might need it later. Everyone to second mark." Michael opened the side door of Al Ghar and held it open until his team had gone inside.  
  
"We're in." Michael's voice was steady and confident.  
  
"Follow Nikita. Turn right in the hall. Nikita, keep going straight until you come to a white door with a zigzag line on it. Go in and go down the stairs. The rest of the team is following close behind. Keep going down until you come to a door with a man on it. Go inside and put on a blue biohazard suit, then rubber boots, double rubber gloves, and a racal hood. Wait for the others to catch up." Nikita followed his instructions after placing her gun on the inside of her left boot.  
  
About this time, the rest of the Section team was entering the Level 2 decontamination vestibule and putting on their own biohazard suits and gear. Between the six of them, it shouldn't take more than ten minutes to get what they need and get back to the transport.  
  
"All right, is everyone ready?"  
  
As team leader, it was Michael's role to speak for the group. "We're all ready."  
  
"Good. Michael, in the black bag you're carrying, there should be twelve swabs. They look like oversized Q-tips. Give everyone two swabs and two glass sample tubes. Take the packaging off the swabs, open the door marked four, and go down the stairs, into the lab. There shouldn't be anyone there. You should have enough time to plant the charge and get out before anyone realizes what's happening." Michael opened the door and Nikita entered, descending the eight steps to the lab, followed by Beckman, Johnson, Arriet, Howard, and finally Michael himself.  
  
Looking around the lab, something caught Nikita's eye that was a little alarming. "Birkoff, there are five bioreactors in here." She didn't know what was in them, but she thought it was important that there were five of them. Each one seemed to be making something different.  
  
"Five? That's more than we expected. Take samples from each and then sterilize them. Okay, everyone rub your swabs against something in a petri dish, a bioreactor, or anything you can find. Put it in the sample tube and seal the tube."  
  
A minute later, there were twelve new samples for the Section laboratory to analyze. Nikita didn't actually know if Section One HAD a laboratory, or where it might be, but it seemed logical enough.  
  
"We have the samples."  
  
"Good. Take them back up to the deconn vestibule and put them in the metal box. The box should be in the black bag. Then take the hoses, turn them on, and bring them into the lab. Hose down EVERYTHING." Michael went back up to the deconn unit, brought back the black box, and opened it. Inside, the top was hollow and the bottom had a large piece of dark gray foam with twelve holes in it, just big enough for the sample tubes to fit in. Each operative put in their two samples and Michael closed the box. He went back up the stairs, but when he came back, instead of bringing the box, he brought twelve hoses. Handing one to each person, he told Arriet to go up and turn them on. Seconds later the hoses started to spew bleach, which had an overwhelming odor.  
  
Within seven minutes, the entire lab had been worked over with bleach and was now sterilized. Michael planted a charge. The team now had another seven minutes to get out of the compound before Birkoff would set it off.  
  
"Michael, get everyone back up to deconn, sterilize your suits and the walls and anything else in that room. Then get out as fast as you can." Running up the steps Michael opened the door and everyone rushed in, bringing the bleach hoses with them. Nikita was the last one in. She closed the door behind her and started to spray herself with bleach. The others followed her example.  
  
"Okay, get out of there. The charge goes off in two minutes. There isn't anyone on the stairs but there's someone in the room you came in through. Shoot him and get out of there." Nikita opened the door to the stairs and ascended them as fast as she could, once again followed by the rest of the team. Heading for their exit door, Nikita was the first one to reach the room. Just before entering, she pulled her gun from her boot. She pushed open the door and got a clear shot at a middle-aged man getting some petri dishes. To the man, the shot came from no where. As he died, the glass he was carrying fell on the ground and shattered. The Section team just opened the door and slipped out as quietly as they had slipped in.  
  
The six operatives ran to the fence, darted back under it, and ran for the transport. As they opened the transport door, the charge went off and the biowarfare lab exploded. Michael was the last one in the transport as he closed the door behind him, he heard a string of obscenities come from Andrew Howard. Nikita and everyone else was sitting down, resting. Birkoff and Michael turned to see what the problem was.  
  
"What's wrong?" Birkoff sounded concerned and irritated.  
  
"I'm wearing two t-shirts under a sweater. My sweater is soaked in bleach."  
  
Birkoff's eyes got wide and his mouth felt dry. "Oh, God. He's contaminated. We all are." 


	2. Part II

Everyone remained relatively calm. Within the transport were places were operatives could sit or sleep after missions. Each operative found a separate area and tried to relax. For these seven prisoners, it wasn't knowing that they could have some deadly disease that was so terrifying, it was the not knowing- all the unanswered questions.  
  
When Birkoff told Operations what had happened, he just said to go to an abandoned warehouse, where a truck would be waiting for them. They were to drive into the back of the truck and then just try to get some rest. They had followed their orders and were on there way to God-only-knows-where, but no one could get any rest.  
  
Birkoff thought about how he'd never had the guts to ask out Alisa, another field operative, and how now, he may never get the chance. ~I might never see that soft red hair again, or those big, blue eyes, or that BODY.~ Beckman wondered why that, in the seven years she'd been with section, she'd never heard of anything like this happening. Marks, Jones, and Howard just played Gin Rummy to try and distract themselves. Michael's mind was filled with all the horrible things he'd done to people, especially Nikita, all in the name of Section. Nikita tried to sleep, but couldn't seem to think about anything other than Jergen and Michael. The questions that had been bugging her for months, the ones that had always been in the back of her mind, had surfaced and were not about to just go away.  
  
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During the eight-hour trip, no one managed to sleep for more than a few minutes here and there, so by Monday morning, when they finally arrived at their destination (a lab near Magdeburg, Germany), everyone was pretty tired. There, the seven prisoners became seven laboratory mice as they were stripped of their clothes, given what resembled hospital gowns, put into separate quarantine units and were under constant surveillance. All in all, for Nikita, it was just like being in her apartment, except that here, she only had one room instead of several.  
  
Her "cell", as she thought of it, was completely white. A mirror, which Nikita guessed was probably double sided, was built into the wall opposite the door. On both of the walls adjacent to the mirror, there was a large (8x5 ft.) window that looked into the next cell, and a curtains, which were drawn at the moment, for privacy. It was a square room with white walls, a white toilet, against the same wall as the mirror, and a white couch in the middle of the room, like the kind psychiatrists have on television. On the couch were, amazingly, another pair of HER clothes. Looking at the one piece of real furniture, Nikita thought ~Where the hell am I, a shrink's office?~ Ironically enough, a few minutes later, a psychologist came in for a visit.  
  
Doctor Russell had on all the typical safety precautions. His face was pale and rounded. Nikita guessed that he was probably in his mid-forties by the style of glasses he wore and his greatly receded hairline. Though Dr. Russell smiled as he walked in the door, it was a false smile, like one a pediatrician would give to a scared child about to have a shot. That made Nikita somewhat uneasy. She didn't quite trust this man.  
  
"Hello, you must be Nikita." The tone of his voice matched the smile he wore on his face. His accent was distinctly German.  
  
~And who are you, the Cat in the Hat?~ She smiled a little. "That's right, and you are?"  
  
"I'm Dr. Russell. I'm here to ask you some questions. Please, have a seat." He gestured to the couch as though it was a chair in someone's living room. Nikita sat down and the good doctor remained standing where he was.  
  
~His accent is German, but Russell isn't a German name. I wonder where we are.~ "Are we in Germany?"  
  
The older man seemed surprised by the question. "Yes, we are. Just outside of Magdeburg actually, but how did you know that?"  
  
"Your accent is German. I made an educated guess."  
  
There was a moment of silence before Dr. Russell seemed to come out of his amazement and remember why he was there. "I'm not here to talk about me, I want to talk about you. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Fine." The slight similarity between this conversation and her previous one with Michael struck her as odd, but she pushed it from her mind as quickly as it had entered. "I don't feel sick or anything if that's what you mean."  
  
"Well, yes, but I'm not an M.D., Nikita, I'm a psychologist. I want to know how you feel emotionally. Are you scared? Worried? Upset?" Dr. Russell's questions were beginning to bother Nikita.  
  
"Like I said, I'm fine. I just want to know when I can get out of here."  
  
"Well, that all depends." She could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't telling her everything.  
  
~God, I might never get out of here. That's what he's hiding. He doesn't know what Howard got in that lab.~ "So there's a chance I'll die in here?"  
  
This was the second time Nikita had caught the man off-guard. "I..." He seemed to be at a loss for words. When he finally spoke again, his eyes were glassy and his voice barely audible. "I think we've talked enough for today. Why don't I go so you can change, and we'll talk again later, maybe tomorrow."  
  
As soon as the man was gone, Nikita took his suggestion, though it was not because he suggested it, and changed into the white tank top and white capri pants that someone had brought from her apartment. Nikita could hear noise coming from behind each window, and choosing the one to the left of the door, she walked over to one of the windows and pulled back to curtain. There was Michael, talking to Dr. Russell. She just stood there, looking at the two men for a while, laughing to herself. ~God, look at him. He's getting so irritated by the doctor. At least the doctor looks at little more comfortable. I must have really shocked him by seeming so calm about dying alone in a cage, being watched by scientists and doctors. I wonder who's in the other cell.~  
  
Curiosity got the better of her. Tearing herself away from Michael, Nikita walked to the other window and pushed the white cloth away. It was Howard. He was alone, wearing a thin white t-shirt and white jeans. Like Nikita and Michael, he was also barefoot. Seeing her, he walked over to the window and forced a grim smile.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Nikita spoke loudly, not sure exactly how thick the windows were. Looking past him, she saw Marks walking around in the room next to Howard's.  
  
Speaking normally, Howard couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice. "I feel okay. You know, the windows aren't THAT thick!" He burst out laughing and Nikita giggled a little herself.  
  
Still smiling, Nikita began to tease her fellow captive. "All right, all right. It's okay to laugh at me in HERE, but when we get back to Section, watch out..." Her smile faded as his face grew solemn. ~He has to keep thinking positively. If he just gives up, he's going to die.~ "Andrew, don't get serious on me. We ARE going to get out of here. Don't give up." Her eyes closed, as though she were in pain. "If Section can make me a killer, they can find a vaccine for whatever you have. You can't even be sure that you HAVE anything yet."  
  
"Some woman came in earlier and did some tests. Cultures and blood tests and things like that. I guess she was a doctor."  
  
"Have you talked to Dr. Russell yet?" She raised her eyebrows in an expression of laughter.  
  
"No, who is he?" Howard seemed scared, worried, and, more or less, upset. Dr. Russell should have fun with him. ~I'll bet Michael's driving him out of his mind! He isn't EVER emotional. I doubt that even contracting a deadly virus would change that.~ At the thought Nikita smiled.  
  
Pulling out of her own thoughts, Nikita realized that Howard was still waiting for an answer. "He's a psychologist."  
  
"Oh." He seemed relieved. "I guess they want to save me for last." Nikita heard a door open and close. She figured that Dr. Russell had probably left Michael's cell. Her speculations proved to be correct when the door to Howard's room opened and the man entered.  
  
"Speak of the devil." Her words were quiet and she doubted that the newcomer had heard her. She decided to imitate the doctor and raised her voice loud enough for him to hear. "We'll talk later." Howard smiled at her and she walked over to the couch and lay down, her head resting casually on the pillow. Looking up, she saw Michael at the window, looking at her. ~Here's another devil.~ "Hello."  
  
"Hello." Michael just stood there, looking at her.  
  
"Yes? Was there something you needed?" Her voice held it's usual cheerful note, though there was a slight chill to it.  
  
"No, not in particular. I just wanted to talk."  
  
"Really? That surprises me. I didn't think you needed anyone." She turned to look at the mirror.  
  
"I don't. I just thought you might want some company while Howard is occupied." Following her example, Michael turned away from her, facing the door. Nikita looked back to him and she got up, walking towards the window. She stood there until his eyes met hers.  
  
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Within two days, Andrew Howard's blood tests had come back, as well as those of the other operatives. Further analysis showed signs of genetic engineering. It seems someone found a way to combine the Ebola virus, Malaria, and Hepatitis C.  
  
Separately, these three viruses can each be quite deadly. Ebola creates blisters with pus and makes the victim bleed from the inside, eventually causing him or her to drown internally in their own blood. With attacks occurring every three days, Malaria has much the same symptoms of Hepatitis C. High fever chills, sweating, etc. are associated with both, Hepatitis, as well as Malaria. Hepatitis C has no vaccine, and it is the most deadly of all the hepatitis strains. It can show up in one week or one year, and if it doesn't kill its host, it generally causes chronic cirrhosis or liver cancer. The effects of these two combined makes for a roller coaster ride the likes of which most people have never even dreamed of. Since no one has ever seen this before, creating a virus could be a problem. It might take days, weeks, years, or a cure might never be developed. It all depends. Meanwhile, the blood tests show only four operatives with the virus: Howard, Beckman, Marks, and Nikita. Even though they showed no signs of infection, Michael, Birkoff, and Jones were kept in their cells for "further observation".  
  
Nikita found it amusing that her food was brought in by nurses in biosafety suits. She got meals whenever she said she was hungry, and oddly enough, if she mentioned a specific food, she got it. That proved her theory of her room being bugged. On the menu for Nikita's lunch this particular day, Wednesday, was grilled chicken with cheesy scalloped potatoes and steamed carrots. It was one of her favorite meals, but she rarely ate anything with much fat. Michael came to the window to talk to her often, and she found herself becoming more and more receptive to his company.  
  
Her third day in captivity, Nikita saw Andrew Howard begin to get really sick. Honestly, it scared the crap out of her. He was moaning all the time. At first it looked like a flu virus or something. ~Oh, God, don't let him die. I don't think I could watch him die. He has to get better.~ Howard had a high temperature and clammy skin. At first he just sweat a lot, so it didn't seems so bad, and he still managed to eat when he was awake.  
  
By Friday, Beckman had come down with it, too. The scientists were supposedly working as fast as possible in finding a cure, but were having no breakthroughs. Through her window, Nikita watched Beckman walk around her room swaying back and forth, refusing to give up without a fight. ~That's how I'm going to be. This thing won't get me easily. I won't give up!~ Knowing that she had already shown mild signs of the virus the scientists had classified as India, watching Beckman and Howard in so much agony was just painful.  
  
Howard was now confined to his couch. It was rare that there wasn't someone in his room, taking more blood, bringing him food, or just checking up on him. Nikita talked to him a lot, even though he couldn't answer, and she just hoped that it did some good.  
  
"Andrew, come on, fight this thing. Don't give up. These people are paid to find cures. They can make you well. They WILL make you well." Her voice got quiet. "Please, hang on." Her eyes watered. Nikita never knew if she was watching him take his last breath.  
  
He stayed like that for days. Eventually, Nikita ran out of motivational material and began to tell Howard about herself. "I know we didn't get to know each other very well. I wish he had. When I was a little girl, oh, about six, I guess, my dog died. Her name was Apricot; she was a basenji. Basenjis are hunting dogs. God, she was beautiful. Everyone else thought she was chubby, but I thought she was perfect. She was about two and a half feet tall and red all over, except for a few places. Her muzzle, her feet, her belly, and the tip of her tail were pure white. I remember she got really sick. There was a tumor in her left ear. My parents got her about three months before i was born, so there wasn't a time in my life up to that point that didn't include Apricot. She just got sicker and sicker, until she died. I remember I cried for weeks, and even though my mother said we could get another dog- another basenji if I wanted- but I knew it wouldn't be the same." Nikita's throat hurt from talking to Howard all the time and pleading with him to get better. She turned around to go rest on her couch, only to see Michael standing at his window, looking at her. "How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"Long enough. Is the story true?" He looked at the other window in his cell. Michael had never told Nikita anything about his past. It wasn't permitted in Section, but he guessed that the rules didn't apply to a dying man. It scared him to death to think that Nikita would die that way.  
  
"It's true." Her voice was quiet and she was staring at a spot on the floor, as if lost in her own mind.  
  
"I'm sorry. It's hard to lose someone you love." The tone of Michael's voice grew sad to match the expression on his face. He was speaking of Simone.  
  
"Simone?" Nikita looked at him with pity in her eyes, though she knew Michael would hate her for it if he saw it. She remembered Simone. On a mission, she had found Simone, alive, half starved and severely beaten. It was easy for Nikita to tell that she had been beautiful, but she had been thought dead for many years. At finding her, alive, Michael had been so happy. Soon after that she gave her own life so that others could escape. That's what most people believed, though Nikita wondered if she didn't take her life to avoid having Michael see what years of torture had done to her.  
  
"Yes, Simone."  
  
"I'm sorry, Michael. I know you did everything you could to save her. She chose to kill the men who hurt her, and let you live, rather than have to live knowing that they could be just around the corner. What she did was incredibly brave and selfless."  
  
"I know." Nikita didn't believe her own words, and she doubted very much that Michael believed many of them either. He may have loved Simone, but he was smart enough to realize the truth. Not even love could have blinded Michael to the truth. In those few minutes, Nikita saw Michael, his soul; he was completely vulnerable and exposed.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you with my story. It was just trying to, I don't know..." She let her voice trail off. Though she had tried her hardest to be optimistic, she was now resigned to the fact that Andrew Howard would die. ~I know he's going to die soon, but I'll be damned if I let him die alone.~  
  
"I do. You wanted to comfort him. You are a very caring person, with a good heart. You don't want him to feel alone." Nikita was startled that his words were so close to her own thoughts.  
  
Her voice was hollow and her eyes wide."Yes, I suppose that's it."  
  
Michael's tone lightened a little. "Don't look so surprised. I know you better than you think."  
  
"Really? That's interesting, because I don't know you at all. I can't remember ever talking to you much- not really." Nikita looked into Michael's eyes, again hoping to find answers that weren't there.  
  
"You know me better than you think. There's a lot you don't know, because I don't talk about it, but there's a lot you don't need me to tell you." Nikita walked back to her couch and lay down, looking back to the window to continue the conversation, but Michael was gone.  
  
~Even in captivity he manages to disappear on me.~  
  
During that first week, Nikita saw Dr. Russell many times. Each time was the same. He stood by the door, she stood at Howard's window, just looking at him and wondering if that's what would happen to her. He asked Nikita the same questions and she gave him the same answers.  
  
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At first the symptoms were barely noticeable. ~So I'm a little more tired than usual. That doesn't mean anything. For the past week I've been watched 24 hours a day. That would leave anyone incredibly tired.~ For a while it was easy to deny, but when she realized that she was cold all the time, and that she spent more time asleep than awake, Nikita had to admit it to herself. She was sick.  
  
Nikita spent most of her eighth day in captivity at her window talking to Howard, or sleeping. That was all she had the energy to do. On the second Wednesday and Thursday of their confinement (the ninth and tenth days), three important things happened. Early Wednesday morning, as Nikita watched from her cell, Andrew Howard went into convulsions and blood began to pour from his mouth. The only thing Nikita could do was scream for someone to help him. Within a few hours, he was dead. As a general rule, Nikita refused to cry. However, on this occasion, she shed a few silent tears in memory of Andrew Charles Howard. Honestly, she was almost happy that he was dead. In her mind, it was better that he were gone, rather than to have him here, in so much pain.  
  
It was the day after Howard died that Michael, Birkoff, Arriet, and Jones were released. The doctors in Germany decided that since their blood tests showed no signs of India, and they showed no symptoms, they were free to go. There was one slight problem. That was the day that Nikita got worse; and Michael refused to leave her.  
  
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Finally, when the doctors and scientists realized that there was no way they could make Michael leave, he was officially allowed to stay. It was talked over with Operations, and though he was not happy about Michael's decision, he knew that Michael would do what he wanted to do, no matter WHAT Operations said.  
  
~To hell with Operations. To hell with Section. I WILL NOT let TWO women I love die alone. It was hard enough losing Simone. I can't lose Nikita, too.~  
  
As soon as he was given a biohazard protection suit, Michael went into quarantine to see Nikita. She was asleep, as she was most of the day now.  
  
~God, she's beautiful. How could she not know how much I love her?~ Since there was really nothing else he could do, Michael just sat and held Nikita's hand while she slept.  
  
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~Even though it didn't do Howard any good, maybe it'll bring Nikita back to me. I it's worth a try.~ "Nikita?" When there was no response, Michael lowered his head so it was just inches from hers. He spoke quietly, so no one else would hear. "Nikita, it's Michael. I want you to know that I'm here. I want you to get better for me. I NEED you to get better for me. Please, I can't lose you, too." All through that day and night, Michael talked to Nikita, begging her to get better. Begging was not exactly Michael's strong suit, so his pleas came out sounding more like orders, but through it all, Nikita never woke up.  
  
When Michael had been given permission to stay, Birkoff requested that he be allowed to stay as well. Though he was also granted this favor, he spent most of his time watching Nikita and Michael from the other side of the mirror. For hours upon hours, Michael just sat there talking to her.  
  
~What the hell is he saying to her. Whatever it is, it must be pretty important. He knows that the room is bugged, so he's talking just loud enough for Nikita to hear, but too soft for the mics to pick it up. Michael's being pretty smart about this.~  
  
After Michael had been in Nikita's room with her for ten straight hours, Birkoff went to the building's cafeteria and had something to eat. When he was through, he put on a safety suit and went to relieve a reluctant Michael.  
  
Michael didn't even look up as Birkoff entered the room. "Why isn't she getting any better, Birkoff? She hasn't wakened up in over ten hours."  
  
"I don't know what to tell you, Michael. This is how Beckman was just before..." Birkoff just didn't have the heart to crush Michael's by finishing the sentence.  
  
Michael set his jaw, as he often did when he was telling someone else that he was right and they were wrong. "She's not going to die. I mean that. I won't let her die."  
  
"I don't know what you can do about it. Either she will get better or she won't, but there's a good chance she'll end up like Howard and Beckman. Whatever happens, you have no control over the situation." Michael processed what Birkoff had just said and came to a frightening realization. Nikita could die, and there was nothing he could do about it. For once in his life, Michael felt completely helpless.  
  
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Getting Michael to go to the cafeteria for some food took much convincing and a promise that if Nikita's condition changed, even the slightest bit, he would be immediately notified.  
  
While Michael was eating for the first time in almost seventeen hours, Birkoff sat with Nikita. Taking Michael's place, he sat in a chair that had been brought in for Michael and held Nikita's hand. About ten minutes after Michael left, she woke up. Birkoff was surprised, and he knew Michael would be disappointed as well as angry if she fell asleep again before his return.  
  
Her eyes fluttered open and it took her a minute to focus on him. "Birkoff, what are you doing here? I thought You, Michael, and Jones had been released." She sounded tired, and the fact that the biohazard suit didn't register in her mind said something for Nikita's present state of mind.  
  
"Well, we were, but Michael and I wanted to stay here until you got better." She sort of smirked, as if to say that she wasn't going to get better.  
  
~At least I won't die alone. What am I saying? When did I decide to die?~ "That's nice. Did Operations order you to stay?"  
  
His face took on a puzzled look and his forehead furrowed. "No. We wanted to stay." Remembering his promise to Michael, he looked at the mirror. "Page Michael. Tell him she's awake."  
  
"Why bother?" There was a low grunt of discomfort. "He won't come. It's funny that you should act as if he wanted to be here. I imagined that he was here, holding my hand as you are now, talking to me, ordering me to get better."  
  
~So that's what he was telling her. Michael was telling her to get well.~ Birkoff's expression softened. "Of course he wants to be here. We all care about you." At his last remark Nikita smiled, as if a memory of something pleasant was surfacing that had been hidden away in the depths of her mind for a long time.  
  
Nikita squeezed Birkoff's hand. "Thanks for sitting here with me. It means a lot to me." A yawn escaped her lips. "I'm so tired."  
  
"Why don't you wait for Michael to get back and then you can have something to eat. After that, you can go back to sleep if you want."  
  
"I think I just want to go to sleep now." Nikita's eyes closed and she rolled over onto her stomach.  
  
"Please don't." Birkoff's tone was one of slight panic. "What do you want to eat. You can have anything you want."  
  
"I really don't want anything to eat. I just want to go to sleep." Already, her voice had taken on a light, dreamy quality.  
  
"Nikita, you really need to eat. Just a little something. Please, for Michael?" The moment he said it aloud, Birkoff wondered if it was a mistake.  
  
Looking down at Nikita, her eyes seemed to be laughing at him. "Michael? Why do you keep talking about Michael?"  
  
"I...don't know. It's just that he stayed here with me to look after you and everything." There was a moment of awkward silence before Birkoff spoke again. "So, will you eat something?"  
  
"If you really want me to eat, I'll eat. But about what I said earlier...don't tell Michael, okay?"  
  
"Of course not. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Aside from being tired, I'm just great." Birkoff let go of her hand and stood up.  
  
"What do you want to eat?" Watching Michael carefully, he walked backwards to the door.  
  
"Honestly, I don't want anything to eat." Rubbing her head against the pillow a little, Nikita settled down to sleep some more.  
  
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He arrived ten minutes too late. By the time Michael was able to get back from the other end of the building, get a suit on, and get to her room, Nikita was already asleep again. He sighed, wishing he had been able to talk to her. Michael had something he wanted to tell her. When he walked in, he saw Birkoff holding her hand as he had been doing less than an hour ago and a stab of jealousy pierced his heart. It was stupid, Michael knew, but to see anyone else touch her made him feel as though he might be being robbed of precious moments he wanted to spend with her.  
  
"Thank you, Birkoff, for watching her for me."  
  
Birkoff realized that that was his queue to leave. Standing up, he walked to the door and suddenly turned around. "Did you get something to eat?"  
  
"Yes, thank you." Satisfied, Birkoff left as Michael seated himself the chair next to Nikita's bed and retook her tiny hand in his large, gloved one. Bending down, he began to talk to her again, his words a harsh whisper. "Nikita, you can't die on me. I NEED you. Maybe Howard and Beckman couldn't fight this thing, but YOU can. Don't give up. Fight this thing every step of the way. I know you can do it. You're stronger than the rest of us. You don't have to die. You CAN'T die. I won't LET you die." Michael paused, not sure if she could hear him. Considering for a moment, he decided it didn't matter. "Nikita, I love you." 


	3. Part III

For nearly three days, Nikita drifted in and out of consciousness with no signs of getting better. This not only ripped Michael apart inside, but it also gave him hope. Neither Beckman, nor Howard had stayed alive this long after contracting India. Only once during that time did Nikita wake up and see Michael.  
  
The sound of his deep, sensual voice lured Nikita from her sleep. Smiling, she realized that it had not been a dream at all, but that Michael was right here beside her, holding her hand, telling her incredible stories of when he was growing up.  
  
"...and then I climbed over the barrier between the crowd and the performers. My father was furious, but like I said, it was my first time to go to the circus, and I wanted to see the elephants."  
  
Nikita quietly interrupted him. "So, how long before your father took you to another circus?"  
  
"You're awake. Do you want something to eat? Something to drink? A blanket?" Michael fussed over her in his calm, reserved way. To Nikita, Michael's face showed no emotion, but to Birkoff, who had watched the man sit with her for hours, anxiously wondering what would happen to her, there was relief etched in every line.  
  
"I don't want anything to eat, but a blanket and some water would be nice. Thank you." A few minutes later, Birkoff came in bearing the water and blanket. After a moment of inquiring as to how she felt, Birkoff left Nikita with Michael and returned to the observation room. Helping her to sit up, Michael proceeded to spread the blanket over Nikita and raised the glass to her lips. Nikita was so surprised by his helpfulness to the point that she didn't know what to say. Momentarily she agreed to eat something. The fact that Michael seemed so adamant about it made it impossible to refuse. Jones came in with a little bit of steak, a few bites of peas, and some chicken soup.  
  
"How are you Nikita?" Jones sounded worried.  
  
"Oh, I'm fine. Haven't you heard? They put all operatives with the flu in quarantine." At first Jones thought she was being sarcastic, but the smile on her face told him that she was just trying to get a laugh out of him. He quickly obliged her and, after giving Michael the tray of food, left the cell. Immediately, Michael took the fork, cut off a piece of meat and put it to Nikita's lips. Now she didn't know WHAT was going on. Michael continued in this manner until the steak and peas were mostly gone.  
  
Nikita groaned. "Why do I feel like I am in grade school, home sick with a cold? I can feed myself, you know." She didn't want to sound angry, just exasperated.  
  
"This isn't a cold. You need all your energy to fight the virus inside of you." ~Because you aren't going to die.~  
  
Regretting how angry she had sounded, Nikita realized that he was right. She needed all her energy, because she couldn't even pull herself up. "Michael, I want you to know something."  
  
"Hmm?" He kept his mind focused on the task at hand.  
  
"I want you to know that I understand that if there had been another way, you wouldn't have killed Jergen. It may not mean much to you, but I just wanted you to know that I forgive you."  
  
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Back at Section, Operations was sitting on the corner of Madeline's desk. He was seeking her advice on what to do about Michael and Nikita.  
  
As always, her voice was rational and cold. "We should just let her die. Most of our operatives, even the higher class ones, still believe that there is no way to cure viruses." At Section, viruses were being cured everyday in top secret labs. It had been only a few hours ago that Operations had been informed that the scientists had finally found a cure for India. He was now left with a huge dilemma.  
  
"But if we let her die, what will Michael do? You remember what happened last time, when Nikita disappeared. That was when Michael only THOUGHT she was dead. What will he do if he WATCHES her die?" Operations knew he had the final say, but he wanted to win Madeline over to his point of view first.  
  
"Yes, but what if we give her the antiserum, and on a mission, Michael's feelings for her overrule his loyalty to the mission- or to Section? Is that a risk we're prepared to take?" Madeline was heartless and unsympathetic. She never thought twice about the people she had killed, or the fact that many of them needn't have died at all.  
  
"On the other hand, what if his attachment to her can save her life, as well as his? Michael's feelings for her might bring her closer to Section. Sometimes a bond between operatives can be a good thing." On that last comment he let his eyebrows raise and his eyes look her over. It was obvious that he was talking about the night they had slept together. He had definite feelings for her, but she brushed it aside, saying that there had been a lot of sexual tension between them and it had been satisfied.  
  
"Not likely. This time, he was ready to go AWOL on us and stay with Nikita if we had denied him the official permission to do so. It's your decision, but I still favor letting her die. If he got over her once, he can get over her again. He got over Simone, didn't he?" There was a slight pause, and when she finally spoke again, Madeline's voice was quiet, yet powerful. "Strange, how much those two situations resemble one another." She had made a valid point and she knew it. Madeline had won, and Operations would let Nikita die.  
  
"All right then. I will go with your recommendation. Nikita will die, just like Howard and Beckman."  
  
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Walter listened to the conversation carefully, trying not to look suspicious. He had planted two bugs the day before: one in Madeline's office, the other in Operations'. He was surprised that no one had noticed them yet, but when Nikita had gotten sick, he had decided that it might be a good idea. His eyes were wide as he finally comprehended that Section One had a supply of virus cures, they had found a way to cure Nikita, and they were just going to let her die. He had to do something about it. Walter wouldn't just let her die. He quickly left Section and walked to a pay phone about four miles away. There, he called several friends within Section to find out exactly where they might be keeping Nikita.  
  
Two hours later, his persistence was rewarded when he called an operative in Magdeburg, Germany. He was surprised to find that the quarantine unit was so close to his friend. Walter told his friend to return to the compound immediately and give Birkoff a message. The message was: 'Call this number when your watch says 4 P.M. I have some important information you need to know about Nikita. 01-809-33-579-8374.' Walter knew that Birkoff would call. He returned to Section to work on his contraptions for about an hour before he would walk back to the pay phone.  
  
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The door to the observation room opened and Dr. Vestoff entered. She walked straight to Birkoff and leaned over, placing her hand on the counter next to his, as if looking at something in front of him. A moment later Dr. Vestoff withdrew her hand and Birkoff saw that there was a piece of paper there, folded in half. He opened it and read the message inside, then quickly got up and followed her out of the room. They walked down a long corridor until they reached a door. There, Birkoff and the doctor left the compound, got into her car, and silently drove a few miles until they reached a pay phone on the side of the road. She pulled over and he got out.  
  
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The phone only rang once before a familiar voice picked up the other end. "Birkoff?"  
  
"Walter? What is it?" He knew that if Walter was calling him like this, it must be a matter of life and death, and by the message he sent, it sounded like it was a matter of Nikita's.  
  
"Yesterday, I planted a bug outside of Madeline's office. When Arriet came back, he told me what happened over there and that Nikita was sick- that's all I could get out of him. I wanted to find out what was going on, so I-"  
  
"Walter, what did you find out?" Birkoff was impatient and edgy.  
  
"The virus that infected Nikita, they called it India."  
  
"That's the code name for it. Why? What did you hear?"  
  
"They found a way to CURE it."  
  
"Who found a way to cure it? Madeline and Operations? That's impossible. There isn't a way to cure a virus."  
  
"Birkoff, this is SECTION we're talking about. They can do anything. You have to get that antiserum!"  
  
"No problem, I'm sure that it'll be shipped here and we'll get it soon."  
  
"Dammit, you don't get it, do you?! They're going to let her die! Operations and Madeline don't want her interfering with Michael's loyalty to Section."  
  
"God. I can't believe it. I'll tell Michael. Thanks, Walter." There was click and the line went dead.  
  
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Michael was called from Nikita's bedside by a very adamant Birkoff. He had told Michael that if he didn't come now, Nikita WOULD die. That settled it.  
  
"I have to go talk to Birkoff. I'll be back as soon as I can. I promise. Stay with me." He squeezed her hand and gently set it down by her side. Looking back at the door, not wanting to leave, Michael turned around and did just that.  
  
Out in the open air of the corridor, Birkoff was waiting for Michael with a steak sandwich and an envelope. He handed Michael both and walked away. In the complete silence, Michael opened the envelope and took out a piece of paper. It read: 'The scientists have found a cure for India. Operations and Madeline are going to let her die if you don't do something- quick.' That was all Michael needed to know. He whispered his good-bye to Nikita from the hallway, not wanting to spare the time to get on another suit and go through deconn. The extra time could mean the difference between saving her life and sacrificing it.  
  
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The closing of the door, though incredibly soft, awakened Nikita. With her eyes still closed she called for Michael, believing that he was still there. When she received no answer, Nikita opened her eyes and saw Birkoff sitting there, staring at her.  
  
"Michael had to go somewhere. He'll be back soon." The look of disappointment on her face was almost unbearable. Birkoff was just now realizing how much Nikita and Michael cared about each other.  
  
"I understand. How long do you think he'll be gone?" She was obviously trying to sound like she didn't care one way or the other, but Nikita was doing a horrible job of lying.  
  
"He might be back by the time you wake up again. He had some business to take care of out of the country."  
  
"Thanks, for staying with me I mean." Her voice was soft and helpless.  
  
"No problem."  
  
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"Michael. What a surprise. How is Nikita?" Operations' face matched the tone of false pleasantness in his voice.  
  
Luckily for him, the windows to Operations' office were tinted at the moment, so no one saw Michael draw his gun, cock it, and shove it into the hollow of his boss' throat. Operations moved backward slowly until he was backed into a corner.  
  
"Michael, what is this about? Is this about Nikita?"  
  
"Yes." He looked at the window for a split second and looked into Operations' eyes with a coldness and cruelty he had never felt before. "I know you can cure Nikita. If you don't, and she dies, so will you."  
  
"What do you mean I can cure her? I don't know-"  
  
"Shut up! I know you CAN! I can prove it if I have to, but I doubt I will. The only reason I would need proof is if she died, and I was having to explain your bloody corpse to Madeline."  
  
"Don't do anything stupid. I'm sure we can make a deal. Is there something else you want? Money? Time off? A larger house?" He paused, trying to give his next offer as much impact as possible. "Maybe some time with Adam?"  
  
For a moment, Michael was paralyzed in surprise. He thought about it for all of a second. Even in his surprise and the anger that followed, Michael never sounded anything but calm and detached, though he was anything but. He knew that if the tables turned, he would probably die, and worse, so would Nikita. "No. I won't do it. Nikita's life is simply not a bargaining chip. If I make the deal, then Nikita will die, but if I don't, both of them will live. I love my son, but I also love Nikita, and I'll be damned if I watch her die. You have already taken one woman I loved away from me. You won't take two. Pick up the phone, call Germany, and tell them to administer the antiserum. NOW." Michael kept the gun aimed at Operations' throat as he moved.  
  
Following instructions, Operations planned how he might get the gun away from Michael, or at least alert someone as to what was going on. Dialing another number wouldn't work. Michael was too smart for that; he had been trained too well. "All right." He picked up the phone and dialed the number to the lab in Germany. Dr. Vestoff answered. "Yes, Dr. Vestoff. I want you to tell Dr. Schectman to give the antiserum to Nikita."  
  
"Tell her to hurry." Michael kept his voice low, so as not to attract the attention of the person on the other end of the line, not that it mattered. He knew that Dr. Vestoff was on his side.  
  
Tightening his voice to convey a feeling of urgency and panic, Operations tried to tell Dr. Vestoff what was going on. "Hurry. It is a matter of life and death." He stressed the last three words of his sentence, hoping to alert her.  
  
Dr. Vestoff's voice changed from one of innocence to one of condescendence and pleasure. "I know. Yours." Operations was taken aback that she had been part of the plot against him. The phone clicked as Operations set it on the hook.  
  
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In Germany, Nikita was tossing and turning, having nightmares about losing Michael. Birkoff, holding her hand, didn't know what to do, so he just talked to her in a soothing voice.  
  
"Nikita, calm down. Everything's going to be all right. You just need to calm down." His pep talk was interrupted by Dr. Vestoff. She entered Nikita's cell, holding a hypodermic needle in one hand and a small, corked glass bottle in the other. Birkoff raised his eyebrows and addressed the doctor. "Is that what I think it is?"  
  
She nodded. "I got the impression that Michael was holding Operations at gun point." Her smirk disappeared and a note of fear entered her voice. "What do you think will happen to us?"  
  
"I don't know, but Nikita's going to live, and that's all that matters to Michael."  
  
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Michael watched as Operations looked at him. Now that Michael had what he wanted, he would leave, and Operations would let him. Michael was the best operative Section had, and Operations now knew that, so long as nothing happened to Nikita, Michael would not pose a threat to Section or anyone inside it. That's why Operations would let him leave unharmed.  
  
"Thank you." That was all he said before he uncocked his gun and left. Operations just watched him walk out the door, not wanting to do anything else. He would let Michael get away with threatening him, only because of previous history and the fact that Michael was the best operative he had, but Dr. Vestoff would not be so lucky. She wasn't that much of an asset to Section and could easily be done without. Operations picked up the phone again and pushed a single button.  
  
"Madeline, make arrangements for Dr. Vestoff to be canceled immediately." Hanging up the phone, he went behind his desk and sat down, thinking about Michael and Nikita. Operations decided that he would allow them to be together, so long as it didn't affect their performance.  
  
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Michael's flight had been bumpy and unsettling. Every moment he was away from her, he was afraid that it was already be too late and she was dead. If she died alone, he would never forgive himself. Stepping into a black biohazard suit, Michael pulled on boots, followed by a racal hood with a built-in HEPA filter for breathing.  
  
Birkoff looked up as Michael opened the door to Nikita's room and stepped in.  
  
"How is she? Is she...?" Michael couldn't finish the sentence. He looked to Birkoff for answers.  
  
"Nikita's fine. We were able to give her the antiserum and she's doing better." Once again, he let go of her hand and surrendered his post to Michael.  
  
"Thank you, for staying with her." Michael gratefully sat by Nikita and retook her hand.  
  
"Hmm, that's just what Nikita said to me earlier." He had a kind of amused half smile on his face.  
  
Michael spoke to him without turning around, anxious to know if she had asked about him. "What did she say?" Just like Nikita's, Michael's attempt at sounding casual failed miserably.  
  
Birkoff chuckled. "Yes, she asked about you. Actually, she asked FOR you, and when she realized you weren't here, I thought she was going to die right then and there. She loves you Michael. She really does."  
  
Birkoff exited the room and Michael returned his full attention to the woman lying in front of him. "Nikita?" He was startled to hear a noise from her, as though she were asking why he had called her name. "I want you to know that I love you."  
  
Half asleep, Nikita rolled over onto her left side. "I love you, too, Michael." Michael squeezed her hand a little tighter and ventured a small smile. Feeling the increased pressure on her hand, Nikita opened her eyes and saw Michael sitting there once more. Believing that the whole thing had been nothing more than an idle fantasy, she didn't mention his confession, nor her reply, but instead pulled his gloved hand to her face, letting her head rest on it. Nikita fell asleep in that position, blissfully lost among her own thoughts and Michael's love.  
  
Michael continued his soft cooing in her ear. "Everything's going to be just fine now. You're going to get better, and I'm never going to leave you again. I swear, I'll never let anything happen to you ever again."  
  
A few minutes later, a nurse came in with a tourniquet, a rag dipped in alcohol, and a hypodermic needle for Michael. He was going to have a shot, so he could take off his suit and have skin to skin contact with Nikita. Seeing her approach, Michael stood, pulled his hand out from under Nikita's head, and stripped off his biohazard suit. He retook his seat and let the nurse tie the tourniquet around his upper left arm, never taking his eyes from Nikita. Skin was rubbed with alcohol and the needle was inserted. He didn't even flinch as the thick antiserum flowed into his vein and the nurse pulled out the needle.  
  
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It was nearly three hours before Nikita awakened again. When she did, Michael was asleep, his head resting on her side, his hand clutching hers. For the first time in days, Nikita could sit up on her own. When she noticed Michael's head on her stomach, she saw that he didn't have on a safety suit and raised his hand to her lips, kissing it gently. The contact jarred Michael out of sleep and he quickly rose to find his hand being lowered to rest on Nikita's heart. He couldn't shake the feeling of her lips against his skin.  
  
He moaned slightly, trying to shake off the remaining feelings of sleep. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"I feel good. How about you? Why aren't you wearing a suit?" Nikita was obviously concerned for his well-being, not wanting him to become infected, but was also touched by his concern for her.  
  
"I feel fine. I had a shot." He turned, showing her the puncture mark on the upper part of his left arm. "It is like a vaccine."  
  
"So you won't get sick?" Her face brightened and it touched Michael's heart to see how much she really did love him.  
  
He smiled at her. "No, I won't get sick."  
  
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Michael stepped off the transport and turned around to wait for Nikita. Side by side they walked down the long dark gray corridor in silence, both looking at the floor as they walked.  
  
"Can I take you back to your apartment?" Michael expected the usual answer of 'no, I think I'd rather be alone.'  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Great." His expression didn't change but there was happiness in his tone. He couldn't believe that she actually wanted to be with him. It was the first time she had agreed to see him outside of Section since he had killed Jergen.  
  
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Back in Nikita's apartment she and Michael sat next to one another on the white carpet. She set her crystal wine glass, filled with crimson liquid, on the glass table in front of her.  
  
All of a sudden, Nikita looked up and stared off into the distance, just to the right of Michael's face. She spoke with a dreamy, wistful quality in her voice.  
  
"While I was unconscious, I had the nicest dreams. You were sitting beside me, holding my hand, telling me stories."  
  
"What kinds of stories?" Michael looked into her eyes.  
  
"About your life- before Section." She smiled a little. "You even told me about how you met Simone."  
  
~Should I tell her that those weren't dreams?~ After a split second of internal debate, Michael decided that, though things wouldn't go back to how they were, he couldn't tell her the truth just yet. "That's nice." 


End file.
